


The Jeannie Diaries

by mandykaysfic



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Diary/Journal, F/M, Gen, back story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 05:20:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandykaysfic/pseuds/mandykaysfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Random extracts from the diaries kept by Jeannie McKay from the age of 13 until shortly before her marriage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Jeannie Diaries

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladysorka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladysorka/gifts).



> Written for SGA Secret Santa 2012

_December, 1985_

Dear Diary,

and if that's not a cliché I don't know what is. Aunt Moira says all 'normal' teenage girls need diaries in which to express their innermost thoughts. I do believe her tone of voice implied I'm not normal and a diary was her way of attempting to redress the imbalance! There, have a 'normal' teenage exclamation mark! And another! - although I'm drawing the line at dotting my i's with hearts.

Do I need to begin by introducing myself if you're my diary and I'm the only one who reads you? Believe it or not, I already have a place in which to express my 'innermost thoughts'. It's a notebook for the interesting stuff that may one day lead to something even more interesting – and there's not a heart to be seen there, even if there are a few exclamation marks…! If someone ever wants to publish my teenage ramblings, they can have that notebook. You, my new purple covered friend, will never see the light of day. Thank goodness you're slim. You can live with the notebook where there's no chance Meredith or our mother will find you and read you, if you're the place I'm going to share my thoughts on fashions and boyfriends and girlfriends and stuff.

Speaking of fashion, technically I guess it's writing of fashion, but hey, this isn't going to be graded. So – speaking of fashion, yesterday I went to the mall with Becka and Dawn. Dawn wanted to spend her birthday money. We went to the sale at Macey's. Her mom let her buy acid wash jeans! - even if she drew the line at the ripped pair – supposedly Dawn was too young and she spouted the usual kind of reasons parents give. The pair Dawn wanted was only ripped at the knees! It wasn't like her underwear or anything showed. She got a jacket to match and the cutest little denim shoulder bag as well. Diary, you're all very nice, but I wish Aunt Moira had given me money instead. 

Love,   
Jeannie

P.S. Maybe that should have been 'Luv'!

 

_April, 1986_

Dear Diary,

It's the most hilarious thing – Mer's got kissing disease! At first he thought his sore throat was tonsillitis, then strep throat and then a list of things too long to mention, especially when his lymph nodes swelled. Then there was the fatigue. He went on and on about cancer until all of a sudden he stopped talking about his symptoms. That was weird, especially as he never misses a chance to mention his citrus allergy and his hypoglycaemia to all and sundry. Apparently his bout of mono is all the fault of April Bingham in the algebra club. I can't imagine why she'd want to kiss him. She's blonde, beautiful and brilliant. Okay, he's brilliant too and I suppose not all that bad looking, at least for a brother. I think a little judicious teasing on my part is called for – bratty younger sisters are supposed to do that, right? I'll let you know how it goes!

Love,   
Jeannie

XXX!!!

 

_September, 1988_

Dear Diary,

Guess what? I'm in his physics class. And English. And we share the same lunch period twice a week! He's tall, dark and handsome, though not in a totally classic way - his nose bends a bit to the left from when he broke it after falling off a horse. Becka thinks he should get it straightened - I think it makes him look interesting. 

I nearly forgot – his name is Ryder. Ryder McCade. If he got a part in a movie or a TV show he wouldn't need to change it - it sounds like a movie star's name as it is. 

You know what's so great? He's not afraid of showing how smart he is. I couldn't go out with someone who was, well, a moron as Mer would say. I wouldn't put it quite so harshly. Probably. Except when referring to Brent. He's a moron, he has sweaty palms and he has an outsize crush on me. Ugh! But why am I rambling on about Brent when I could be dreaming about Ryder? I've saved every article he's written for the Star. School newspaper today, tomorrow the world! I wish I could make him see we'd be a perfect match in every way. He's not going out with anyone since he and Flick broke up during the break. We have heaps in common, more than he and Flick ever did – brains, for one! 

Sigh…it's his brains I'm counting on, that he'll recognize what, or rather who, is right next to him, even if my insides are going all mushy at the thought of him kissing me and me kissing him back. I'll just pause here for a moment…

…still thinking… 

Sigh…hopefully he wouldn't be the kind of person who would freak out if someone happened to have a little seizure in their presence.

In love,   
Jeannie

 

_August, 1989_

Dear Diary,

Woo-hoo!!! Picture me doing handsprings!!! I have to do that too as I can't do a handspring to save myself. I'm about to register for the Mathematical Physics program at Waterloo! 

Mer won't be totally pleased, but there was no way I was going to his alma mater. The whole comparison thing has dogged me long enough, although I can't deny I'd love the opportunity to work professionally with him some day. It's fascinating, watching him sink his teeth into a problem that needs solving. He gets this certain look in his eyes and you can practically feel the energy generated by his brain as the neurons fire. I hope the people at Waterloo will prove as inspiring.

Love,  
Jeannie.

 

_May, 1995_

Dear Diary,

This is it. Today is 'D' day. Nervous? Hell, yes! even though I know I'm as prepared as I could ever be. Mer sent me another email. I think he's more excited over the prospect of my Masters than he ever was over his PhDs. I can't begin imagine what he'll be like when it's time for my dissertation – I don't want to even try!

Distractedly,  
Jeannie

 

_August, 1995_

Dear Diary,

After much thought, along with much input from Meredith, I'm going to do it. I'm moving to Vancouver. I'm not going to join him – one McKay in America is enough! This offer has so much potential. The future's looking bright! 

Off to sort out the accommodations.

Jeannie.

 

_September 30, 1996_

Dear Diary,

Please tell me why I've agreed to go to a poetry reading with Kelly and Rhiannon. 'I don't know much about art, but I know what I like.' Who said that? I could look it up except I can't be bothered. Substitute poetry for art and that would be me. My tastes in that area could definitely be described as plebeian. At least it's being held at 'Between the Lines'. Maybe I can find a book and hide in a corner till it's all over.

No love,  
Jeannie

 

_October 1, 1996_

Dear Diary,

I think I'm in love. 

Jeannie.

 

_October 2, 1996_

Dear Diary,

Yes, yes – I met him at the poetry reading. One of life's ironies and all that. I told them I'd grab a book and a coffee and settle myself in a suitable out of the way corner, much to the disgust of the girls. Even being taunted with 'you're more like your brother than you want to admit' failed to make me sit up front with them. Although I can admit here it almost worked, except I realized in time it was probably pay back for that thing I did a couple of months ago – remember? I should never have tried to set him up with Kelly, but she ticked all his boxes – blonde, beautiful and brainy. I thought she might have had what it took to get him to come home. It's not like he doesn't get a new offer every other month from the top companies here – he had four 'meetings' in what was supposed to be his vacation.

Anyway, enough of Mer and back to last night. ‘Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance’ wouldn’t have been my first choice of reading matter, but I was momentarily distracted and ended up pulling a book from the shelves at random and escaping to my chosen chair. Actually, I found it entertaining enough that I was able to lose myself and drown out the high-pitched, nasally tones of woman reading the first few poems. (I could be rude and put 'pomes', but that would be too cruel, even here) But then - his voice, the second reader, not so much.

Two lines into the first stanza and I had to look up to see who owned that voice. Clichés are clichés for a reason, except I couldn’t decide whether his voice felt like honey or a really smooth brandy or chocolate when it’s melted exactly right. I didn't care, as whoever he was, he made my toes curl. I could listen to that voice read the phone book, or more dreaded poetry! So I take a peek and oh my god, it’s him! 

He’s the distraction I mentioned. I was scanning the shelves, as one does when in a book shop, with my head tilted so I could read the titles on the spines, and I kind of crashed into him. It felt like time stood still while we looked into each other’s eyes and I do NOT want to get into the physics of that here. Kelly rushed over to see if either of us were hurt, which in true fairy tale fashion, broke the spell. I apologized to him, grabbed a book and ran. I am such a klutz at the worst possible times.

Obviously I didn’t damage him too much as he stood for his reading without any evidence of injury. I have no idea what he read – something famous, something obscure, even something he wrote? 

Later, he got Kelly to perform introductions. Kaleb Miller, English major. 

Rhiannon slipped a copy of the book containing the poems he read into my bag. She marked them for me, bless her. I should read them tonight as he invited me to join him for lunch tomorrow. 

Okay, I admit I’m probably more in lust than in love right now, but there's something inside me saying I think I want to spend the rest of my life with this man.

Love,  
Jeannie 

 

_January, 1997_

Dear Diary,

It's a new year and a new beginning. That particular tautology drives Kaleb crazy, but it feels appropriate to use here and now – we've decided to move in together. We sound like the title of a paperback romance – 'The English Professor and the Physicist'. Now there's an idea…or not! Mer's always on at me to publish…I don't think this is what he had in mind! Or Kaleb. We'd need a nom de plume, although I bet there are any number of English professors already secretly writing and publishing genre fiction. Maybe Mer wouldn't mind so much if it were sci-fi instead of romance. Something Star Trek-ish, or Star Wars-like, with space ships and aliens, just with added romance. I could still be the Physicist, but where would one fit an English Professor into that scenario? He could be from an alternate universe, or, better still, I could. A universe-hopping physicist who finds true love in this particular realm. I should stop here before I have it half written.

We've leased an apartment that's close enough for Kaleb to walk to the campus. It has 2 bedrooms, so we can have someone over to stay if we want. We can use it for a study the rest of the time. The view from the kitchen window is nice. I hope the neighbours aren't noisy.

More after we get settled.

Jeannie.

 

_July, 1997_

Dear Diary!

I'm – no, wait, we're getting married! Kaleb proposed last night. I almost feel I should scrawl a bunch of hearts or smiley faces or both across the page.

He suggested we have an indoor picnic and that we try out the fondue set his cousin gave us – he'd sneakily prepared all the vegetables in advance as well as picking up some gruyere from the market. I hereby declare fondue vastly underrated. It was delicious. 

And never let it be said that fondue is not romantic, especially when it involves chocolate and strawberries for dessert. So there we were, sitting cross-legged on the floor, laughing at something one of us had said, and right now I can't remember what it was. He dipped his finger into the chocolate and drew a line down my nose. He looked into my eyes, then kissed off his artwork, told me he loved me and asked me to marry him!

I may have squealed, I definitely cried a little. Yes, oh, yes - I love you too and yes, I'll marry you. 

Yours in love,   
the newly engaged Jeannie.

(And there wasn't a book of poetry in sight! I was so sure he'd read something romantic when he proposed)

 

_August, 1997_

Dear Diary,

Please tell me one day Meredith will meet a girl he wants to marry. And please let her have some 'unsuitable' profession, so I can pay him back for every 'English Professor' he's managed to say like it's an insult. A soft science would do. A quirky equivalent to vegetarianism wouldn't go astray either.

Seriously? I just want him to be happy for me. I'm looking forward to my future with Kaleb. We want to raise a family together. 2.4 kids, a dog and a white picket fence, that's us. With a house and garden to go with the picket fence and a whole number of children, of course. And that one day our children will have some cousins who belong to Mer and his anthropologist-sociologist-something-ist wife.

Love,  
Jeannie.

**End of extracts**

 

END


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